


Captive

by SenoraKitty



Series: Something Unnatural in 221B [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Blood Drinking, M/M, Supernatural Elements, Vampire Mycroft, Vampire Sherlock, Vamplock, Were John, Werewolf John
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-22
Updated: 2014-03-22
Packaged: 2018-01-16 14:56:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1351585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SenoraKitty/pseuds/SenoraKitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I won't be able to stop myself...”</p><p>“Trust me to stop you.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Captive

**Author's Note:**

> Work is currently unbetaed.

John shifted in the darkness, his shoes shuffling on the dingy concrete floor. The sound carried in a booming echo across the small room, sounding incredibly loud to his heightened sense of hearing. If there was just a bit more light in there he would have been able to see with his natural low light vision. At least he knew he wasn't alone.

He had awoke on the cold floor, of the cell, to find himself between a reinforced steel door, and a bound Sherlock. Thick shackles, and collar bound the vampire's slender neck and wrists. The restraints chained and bolted to the wall with only enough slack to allow Sherlock to kneel, at best. The fact that he was free while Sherlock was bound baffled him.

The room they occupied was small, though there was enough space for him to stand and walk around. The walls, floor, and ceiling were all made from concrete. The only light source was a florescent in the eight foot high ceiling. The door and it's frame had obviously been replaced by a custom one, made just for holding them.

At one point the lights had been shut off, casting the entire room into darkness. They sat there for hours in the dark. Sherlock finally decided that they should rest, 'reserve their strength,' as he put it. John had found that a difficult task. 

He was awake now, the sedative they had shot him with having worn off. He was fidgety, and anxious, his senses on full alert. His attention was brought back to the cell's other occupant. Sherlock's slow even breathing had a slight calming effect on him. For the hundredth time, since they had been there, John was grateful to know that Sherlock was safe, and with him. Even though the vampire couldn't move about as freely.

That thought had his mind wondering to just why Sherlock was the only one bound. Sherlock might have put up a fight when they were being moved, and that could be the reason behind his incapacitated state. However, John was as much of a threat as Sherlock was, if not more so with the oncoming full moon. He should have been trussed up right beside the vampire, but there wasn't even a second set of restraints in the room, and he was left unbound.

His thoughts were interrupted as white light flooded the room from the fixture above. Hissing, he tried to shield his eyes from the blinding light burning his sensitive eyes. Absently he rubbed at them, trying to ease the pain. “Would you bloody well stop doing that?” John shouted, hoping their captors could hear him. Standing, he stalked in front of the door. “Pack of mangy bastards...” he growled at anyone who would listen.

“Do try to keep the expletives to a minimum, John.” Sherlock drawled from where he sat against the wall. He had his eyes closed, but it was clear that the light was bothersome even through the veil of his lids.

John whirled on the vampire, snarling as he bared his canid fangs. He was only met with Sherlock's cool gaze. The sight of his friend's calm, demeanor instantly drew John back to himself, and the wolf faded from his features leaving only the unassuming John in it's wake. 

Flustered by his outburst, he stammered trying to apologize. “Sorry, sorry I'm just-”

“On edge,” Sherlock concluded. “You're confined, and your instincts are on overdrive. The moon's current phase more than likely has something to do with it as well.” Having never bothered to memorize the lunar chart, Sherlock could only assume that the moon was growing closer to being full. He had observed John's moods during the waxing and waning of the moon the month after he figured out John was a lycan. 

He discovered that, like the tide, John rose and fell in accordance to the moon. He would become restless and snippy as the moon grew fuller, and settle into a more reserved state while the moon entered its dark phase. 

“Yeah, that's part of it.” The other part was that he couldn't figure out just why he was free, while Sherlock was restrained. Perhaps the restraints were to keep the vampire from moving about, and exploiting a weak point in the room. Even if Sherlock discovered a weakness what would it matter? They had no idea where they were, he was unarmed, and the place was likely crawling with Moriarty's wolves. Escape without outside aid was unlikely, if not impossible.

He began to pace again, his legs actually aching from staying put too long. He could only imagine how Sherlock's body must be screaming at him. The vampire had been restricted to a sitting position since they've been there. He thought back to the man's reaction when John had offered to remove the restraints. He hadn't expected Sherlock's violent outburst. The vampire demanding that John keep his distance, to leave him restrained. He could only assume that Sherlock had his reasons for wanting to remain bound, though John couldn't fathom what those reasons might be. Sherlock's bizarre behavior was only slightly unsettling, John had seen far worse from his friend. 

John paused in his step to glance at the cell's other occupant. Sherlock sat rim-rod straight, his head resting back against the concrete wall, eyes closed. He looked all for the world as if he were sleeping, but John knew better. The vampire rarely slept even when he should. No, Sherlock had retreated into the depths of his own mind. For all John knew the man had some kind of mental training to block out all of his body's needs. _Lucky Bastard,_ John thought to himself before he continued his trek around the room.

Sherlock listened while John paced around the room. He could feel John's transition from frustration into silent unease. 

The whole situation not adding up to him is what had John worried. 'On edge,' as Sherlock put it. It was as if they were locked away and simply forgot about. The rotation of the lights turning off and on being the only sign that anyone was even watching over them. _That sort of thing could be done by remote- a timer set on the lights,_ he told himself. Questions began to race through his head, each one growing darker than the last.

Sherlock could sense John's rising panic. At that moment he wanted nothing more than to calm the wolf. A wolf close to a full moon was difficult enough to deal with on it's own, a frantic and scared wolf would be impossible to handle. “Mycroft will likely be made aware of our absence soon enough.” His words seemed to calm John down, but he still kept padding around the room.

 

Their heads lifted, both pairs of eyes focusing on the door as they heard shifting somewhere in the corridor on the other side of the structure. A metal slat was removed at the bottom of the door, flooding the floor in a wide arch of light. A moment later and the florescent above their heads blazed to life, stinging their eyes once more.

John's nostrils flared as a delicious scent wafted through the slot at the bottom of the door. More shuffling, and a tray with a large steak was thrust through the partition, the slat closing behind it. His mouth watered as he stared down at the rib-eye on the tray. Hunger roiling in his stomach he snatched up the steak, ready to devour it.

“Wait!” 

John paused, the steak half way to his mouth. It took all his will power not to tear into the handful of tantalizing meat right that very second.

“It could be poisoned,” Sherlock warned. He watched John look forlornly at the steak in his hand, weighing the risk of being poisoned or starving. He understood the other man's hunger. When this case first began Sherlock chose to forgo his regular feeding. Now, with a dull ache clenching his stomach, he was beginning to regret that decision. It was tolerable and easy enough for him to ignore, but that came with patience and practice. He knew that John did not have much control over his bodily needs that a centuries old vampire, like himself, possessed. “Bring it here.”

John eyed Sherlock skeptically, not sure what the vampire had in mind. Tentatively he made his way to where Sherlock remained chained to the wall. John licked his lips, holding out the steak for the detective's scrutiny.

Sherlock leaned in as much as the steel collar, around his neck, would allow. Sniffing at the cooked meat, his senses didn't detect anything abnormal about the smell of the steak. It was particularly fresh from the market, cooked medium rare, salt, pepper, and garlic seasonings. All in all it appeared to be an average cut rib-eye. Still he could not be sure of the purity of the steak from scent alone. Humming suspiciously he swiped his tongue over a particularly fatty side of the meat. Rolling the flavor over his pallet he nodded. “It's safe,” he confirmed leaning back against the concrete slate, leaving John to his meal.

 

The routine carried on for what Sherlock calculated to be the next two days. The irregular intervals of pitch black darkness and blinding light, the door slat opening, John sliding the tray through to be rewarded with another piece of meat being shoved back at him. Sherlock had spent much of this time retreating into the depths of his mind palace. Leaving John alone in silence as they waited for Mycroft or their captors to make a move. It was a waiting game. 

Sherlock's consciousness only rose to the surface when John would shift in alert for his meals. Like now, John was in the middle of transitioning a tray of meat into the cell, as Sherlock became aware of the present.

John picked up the slab of meat, taking his time eating as he wandered around the room. He wanted to savor his meal. Hunger had caused him to scarf down the first steak he had been given. He barely had the time to enjoy it, needing nutrition more than the novelty of flavor at the time.

Sherlock could sense everything about the other man. John's scent was quickly filling the cell the more he was there and moving around. John was putting off enormous amounts of heat, lycan's body temperature running a few degrees higher than humans. Scent and heat enveloped Sherlock like an old worn blanket, it made his skin tingle. 

Silently he cursed himself, trying to focus on something other than his cell mate's enticing scent, and warmth. Then he noticed it: the other man's pulse and heart rate rushing through his veins, pumping his blood under his warm skin. The pounding of John's heart grew so loud that Sherlock could hear it reverberating off the walls in echos. He listened to the alterations in John's breathing pattern as he tore into the meat, making the tiniest sounds of feeding. Sherlock could tell by the small sighs of delight that the steak was choice. The meat fueling and feeding a healthy body, helping it to create fresh warm blood. _John's blood,_ his brain reminded him. His stomach roiled, and Sherlock was made all too aware of the gnawing hunger inside his body.

One whole month, that had been as long as Sherlock had allowed himself to go without feeding. He feared triggering a blood frenzy if he dared go any longer. Even then he had made sure to lock himself away from the outside world, away from temptation. That's what this was, temptation. He could feel John. His eyes snapped open at the realization. John's presence was overwhelming as long as Sherlock was using the majority of his senses. With a shuttering breath he chanced a look in John's direction, regretting his decision immediately.

John had finished his steak and was now diligently licking the myoglobin that had run down his forearms. The juices looking like small rivers of blood. 

Sherlock watched enraptured as John's pink tongue traced the crimson trails along his muscular arms. He imagined it being his own tongue lapping over that slightly tanned skin, the steak juice replaced by John's hot delicious blood. His mouth watered at the imagery. At that moment he wanted nothing more than to devour the only other living being occupying that tiny space. The intensity of that need frightened him. _No,_ he chided himself, screwing his eyes shut once more. He had to block out the sight of the other man before him. Before he was able to stop it a deep throaty groan erupted from him. The sound was loud to his own ears, there was no way that John would have missed it.

A long pause, and then. “Sherlock?”

 _Damn it,_ he mentally cursed his laps in control. _Shut up, shut up, shut up John!_

He knew that nothing would come from Moriarty's end. He knew what the consulting criminal wanted. He had known the moment he woke up in restraints while John was unbound in a heap on the floor. He had only hoped that they would be rescued before his need for blood would turn him into a mindless beast, a creature of pure instinct who's only impulse would be to feed. To be reduced to such a state would not only be humiliating to him, but devastating to John.

Sherlock thought back to the first string of murders from a vampire in a blood frenzy that John had witnessed. Being a doctor John had known about the condition, but nothing could have prepared the man for the viciousness of the crimes. 

They had found their perpetrator in an upstairs flat surrounded by parts of a dismembered family of three. It was only possible to tell the sex and age of the family members based on the size of limbs that had been strewn about the living room. The vampire had been gorging itself on a puddle of blood, lapping up the combined blood of the family from off the filthy ground. It was contemptuous to Sherlock seeing one of his kind so far gone, but for John the scene was far worse. The moon was nearing it's dark phase then, and John was more human than wolf at the time.

There were only two ways to deal with a vampire in a blood frenzy; attempt to restrain and incapacitate, or kill. Sherlock was a mere obstacle to the addled vampire, a rival predator. However, John's presence was just like ringing a dinner bell. Sherlock had no other choice but to kill, or risk John getting severely injured. The decapitation was quick, and Sherlock came away with only minor gouges in his forearms from the vampire's claws.

“Sherlock?” John's concerned voice came from a much closer distance than it had the first time.

His eyes snapped open to find John peering down at him from less than a foot away. The lycan's heat and scent was rolling off him in waves, flooding Sherlock's olfactory with the scent of fresh blood and John. The aroma was surprisingly pleasant to Sherlock even with it's undertones of trepidation. If anything the slight hint of fear was exhilarating. Another subconscious growl of hunger rumbled from his throat. 

“Christ Sherlock!” John jumped back and took in the sight of a ravenous vampire; fangs and claws descended and bared, eyes pulsing with a faint blue light- trained on the only other living thing in the room. John swallowed nervously realizing, in that moment, he was prey in the eyes of a predator. The vampire's pallor was clammy and ashen white, and if he had more blood in his system Sherlock would be sweating profusely. John couldn't look away, transfixed by the sight of Sherlock like this. “When was the last time you fed?”

The question seemed to draw the vampire back to his senses, giving him something to focus on, other than the warm body of his friend. Sherlock rested his head against the wall with a heavy sigh. Closing his eyes he recalled the last time he drank from a blood pack. “Four weeks and five days ago.”

“Jesus, Sherlock, it's a wonder you haven't gone into a blood frenzy!” John dropped to his knees at Sherlock's side, reaching for the shackles at the vampire's wrists. What on earth was Sherlock thinking going this long without blood?

“Don't come any closer!” Sherlock snarled, fully baring his fangs in warning. It took every ounce of control he had not to lunge at John. Panting, he regained his composure enough to explain himself. “John, if you release me I will sink my fangs in your neck, dig my claws into your skin, and nothing short of a full moon change would be able to stop me. I will drain every last drop out of you.”

John froze, fearing he might provoke an assault if he moved even a hairs breath. He listened to Sherlock's warning, noting the strain in the vampire's voice as he detailed how he would attack and feed on him. The thought of it caused a shiver to race down his spine. He had wondered a long time ago what it would feel like to be bitten by a vampire. He had heard stories from both good and bad experiences, and he had seen with his own eyes the worst of what could happen from a hungry vampire. Sherlock was on the brink of that hunger now.

Sherlock saw the look of recognition on John's face, and something shifted in the vampire. Sherlock appeared vulnerable, almost frail as he confessed, “I won't be able to stop myself...” His pulsing eyes silently pleaded with the wolf, imploring him to understand and keep his distance.

John stared into those glowing glasz eyes, as he analyzed the situation. He had seen what could happen to a vampire in a blood frenzy, and he swore to himself in that instance that he would never allow it to happen to Sherlock. Not if he could help it. With renewed determination he stood, divesting himself of his shirt and vest. Cautiously he moved forward, and settled over Sherlock's long thighs. He cupped the vampire's face in his hands, Sherlock's pale skin felt as cold as it looked. Gently he forced Sherlock to focus on him. “Trust me to stop you.”

Sherlock was secretly relieved when the wolf moved from his narrowing line of sight. However, before he could fully relax, John was back and straddling his legs, holding him in place. The lycan's hands almost scalding to the touch. His eyes widened in fear as he realized what John had in mind. Furiously he shook his head, dislodging himself from John's grasp. “No. I won't,” he snapped, thrashing in an attempt to throw John off him. Even with the moon near full the wolf wouldn't have the strength to stop him, didn't the idiot understand that?

John held fast and watched as Sherlock quickly wore himself out. “Sherlock, you need to feed.” He declared, in his stern clinical tone that told Sherlock there would be no contest. 

“...No...,” came the weaker refusal. He was losing himself to the gnawing hunger in his stomach now. His mind becoming dull and clouded. Only his senses were on high alert, drowning out his ability to think rationally. He was surrounded by John, the wolf's presence flooding his senses, driving him mad as he fought with his body's insistence to feed.

“I'm offering. I'm not going to just sit here and let it happen to you.”

“John...” He turned away, unable to bear the unwavering resolve in his friend's voice while he himself was falling apart. Sherlock's gums throbbed and ached in his mouth. The glans behind his fangs were swollen and dripping with his venom. He began to shudder in exertion, his body craving sustenance while at the same time burning off what little energy it had left. For the first time in centuries he cursed his body's dependency on blood.

“Trust me,” John assured him. He reached for the manacles around Sherlock's wrist once more, keeping a close eye on the vampire in case he tried to attack once freed. “...Only the collar,” he heard Sherlock grate out, and he hesitated only a moment before following the request. Wary of Sherlock's fangs John unclasped the steel ring around the vampire's neck.

Sherlock resisted biting, even as John guided him to the juncture of his neck and shoulder. Instead he clamped his teeth shut refusing to give in. He clamored to retain his last shred of sanity even as his mind was shutting down, driving him into his most basic instincts.

John admired his friend's resilience, but he knew Sherlock was in pain. It was never easy fighting one's own body, and nature. Even he was struggling not to run away, his every instinct screaming at him like an animal caught in a trap. 

Gently John parted Sherlock's tight lips with his thumb pressing the vampire's trembling mouth to his throbbing cordial, coaxing him to feed. He could feel the sharp tips of fangs barely brushing his skin, not yet penetrating. “It's okay Sherlock,” he whispered into the dark curls of Sherlock's hair. “Take it.”

Sherlock's mind was running in circles now, a mantra racing through his head even as he refused to comply. _I want it, I want it right now. Let me have it. John's blood, I want it!_ In a faint flash of clarity John's voice broke through the thick fog telling him, 'take it,' and so he did.

Nothing could have prepared him for the fierce speed at which Sherlock moved, once his final thread of control snapped. It was merciless, and John found it impossible to hold back the startled cry that was torn from his throat as Sherlock savagely latched onto his neck. 

Fearing the vampire would draw away at his panicked outburst, John tangled his fist in Sherlock's hair, holding him securely to his throat. “Don't stop...” He implored between clinched teeth. Tears stinging his eyes as the sharp pain of the incision turned into a dull ache.

All at once blood burst into his mouth, bathing his tongue and pallet with warm richness. Sherlock moaned as it slid down his throat and warmed his belly. John's pulse beat throughout his entire body, opening his veins, and filling them with life. He was drowning in the sensation of John, the wolf was everywhere filling all of his senses. Sherlock realized that he was consuming John in nearly every possible way, and even then he craved more.

Eventually the chemicals from Sherlock's bite made their way through his system, and John found himself in a strange state of compliant arousal. Sherlock was drawing blood with every beat of John's heart, each pull sending waves of pleasure coursing through John's body. “Oh that's it, keep going...” he muttered, completely drunk on the sensation of a vampire feeding on him. Chains clattered as their bodies jolted and rocked in tandem with John's heart. The room filled with words of encouragement, soft growls and moans, and obscene wet noises as Sherlock sucked greedily from John's vein. 

The pain in his gums dissipated the instant he bit down, his venom having been injected into John's neck. Sherlock's skin took on a flushed hue, as he was slowly becoming himself again. Still he continued to feed.

As the first wave of dizziness struck, John weakly called out warning Sherlock of his wavering consciousness. “Sherlock stop...” When it became evident that the vampire was not going to comply John began to panic. “Stop!” In a final bid to get the vampire to release him he braced a hand on Sherlock's shoulder, and pushed violently tearing himself away from the hungry mouth. Immediately he clamped a shaking hand over the holes in his throat, in an attempt to stunt the blood flow.

With the edge taken off his hunger the bio luminescent pulse in Sherlock's eyes faded. Gradually he was becoming aware of his body and surroundings. Blinking the dark spots from his vision, he was able to focus on John trying desperately to stem the flow of blood from his neck. Sherlock strained against the restraints as far as he could, bringing his mouth to his bound hand. Nicking his thumb with a fang, he offered John the digit that was now seeping slowly with the vampire's own blood. “Here.”

Tentatively John shifted forward, allowing Sherlock to soothingly rub his blood into John's neck wound. He couldn't hold back the shutter and moan as his neck tingled from the skin slowly suturing itself together. Unable to move he slumped in a boneless heap against Sherlock's shoulder, fighting to catch his breath.

Spying fresh blood still on John's neck and shoulder Sherlock couldn't resist, and began to lap eagerly at the crimson fluid. His body was becoming fully functional once more. The werewolf blood singing in his veins carried more power and energy than anything he had tasted before. It was remarkable, and it was all thanks to John.

John couldn't bring himself to protest, far to exhausted to form a proper argument. He let Sherlock lav at his throat, offering his bloodied hand when the vampire nuzzled his neck, in search of more blood.

After meticulously cleaning John's neck and hand of blood, Sherlock rested his head on the wolf's shoulder feeling content and sated. “You can release me now,” he rasped into the space between them.

John froze, still a bit wary of an attack. “Are you sure?”

Sherlock gave an indignant huff. Rolling his eyes he lifted his head, shooting his friend a glare. “For God's sake, John, yes! Stop making me repeat myself.”

John fought back a smile, and reached up to fumble with the shackles, his fingers feeling tingly, and uncoordinated as he grappled with the latches holding the restraints closed. Eventually he managed to free Sherlock completely. 

They sat side by side for a while, John once again wearing his vest and button up, and Sherlock flexing his limbs to get circulation flowing through them again. 

Sherlock wiggled his fingers, finally able to get sensation back into his extremities. With a sigh he dropped his hand to the floor, and stared up at the ceiling. “Do us both a favour, don't ever do that again.”

Rolling his head to the side John eyed Sherlock. “I could say the same goes for you.”

Their eyes met, and neither one could hold a serious face, as they found their actions, prior to that moment, ridiculous and insane. Both men burst into a fit of giggles that soon turned into full blown laughter.

 

It was only a few more hours when they heard fighting, and gunfire. Mycroft having found them at last. 

The elder Holmes himself, stood by their ride home as the two friends were lead out of the underground bunker.

“Did you decide to take your time, or are you actually that rusty,” Sherlock jeered his older brother.

Mycroft rolled his eyes at the jab, of course Sherlock would be petulant after such a stint in captivity. “You can blame my tardiness on the speed of your alarm system.”

A sharp crow came from near by, drawing everyone's attention. Sherlock and John turned to see a large black bird perched atop a crooked fence post. The bird shifted, and danced on the wooden stump seeming to demand attention.

Sherlock's face lit up in recognition. “Edgar,” he called excitedly, holding his hand out to the bird.

“Is that a crow?” John watched in wonder as the bird flew from it's perch to the back of the vampire's outstretched hand.

“Raven actually.” Sherlock smiled, stroking the inky black feathers, of the raven's chest, with the back of his finger. The raven appearing blase about the affectionate touch, as it made small clicking noises at the detective. The two dark clad creatures looked completely casual with each others presence.

John glanced between the bird and Sherlock, slowly becoming aware of what he was seeing. “You have a pet raven? How come I've never seen it?”

“Him,” Sherlock corrected, “and you haven't seen him because I have him trained to come to my bedroom window.” He held the raven out to the lycan. “Edgar John, John this is Edgar.”

John stared, baffled at the large black bird eyeing him. Clearing his throat nervously he nodded stiffly in greeting. “Um, hello.”

The raven blinked and cocked his head as if he were studying John. With a flutter of his wings Edgar took flight, leaving them behind. 

Sherlock turned from where Edgar was disappearing into the distance, and smiled to John. “Home then?”

“Yes.” John was still very weary from their whole ordeal, and home certainly sounded like the best place to be. After spending so much time surrounded by cold grey walls the warm comfort and security of 221b was very much desired. John could hear a hot shower and warm bed calling his name.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this basically because I read so many good vamplock fics that graze over the details of feeding. Bite scenes are not easy to write, I will admit this, but I am always left craving more when I read them. So this was my attempt to scratch the itch for more detail.
> 
> I wrote most of this in a state of sleep deprivation. I think it shows.


End file.
